Wanting My Assistant

Chapter 19

The numbers on the microwave tic by slowly. Who knew heating up pizza would take this long. It feels like forever. I decided to listen to Dawson and take a slice of pizza. One slice can't hurt.

   He's been in the bathroom for a half an hour. What can he possibly be doing? Does he really not want to see me that badly? Am I that hideous? Did I truly make him mad by wearing his shirt?

   A sigh leaves me and my shoulders hunch forward. I must have done something. But the microwave here sucks. Honestly. I've been trying to get this damn slice of pizza warm for like three minutes now and it's taking forever.

The soft creak of the door grabs my attention and I turn to find Dawson standing there. Shirtless. With...are those sweatpants?

Oh my god. The world is going to end!

He's not wearing a suit! And...and...and holy fuck. He looks so, so good. He's even more muscular than I had thought. His arms well defined and built. He has a six pack. I'm pretty sure my mouth just started watering. All of the muscles he has, are bulky and stiff. In a good way. Not the over-the-top fit. But he's fit. My eyes trail from his thick neck, down to his broad, muscular shoulders before trailing down his arms. He looks like a god. No wonder his shirts hug his muscles so tightly, any fabric would have to stretch to fit him in. His broad shoulders, all the way down to his veiny forearms. Everything is perfection. If my mouth had dropped open at the sight, I wouldn't be surprised. He's...he's masculine. Everything about him screams power and demands respect.

And those sweatpants? They aren't doing me any justice. They hang low on his hips, and my eyes feast on the sight of his exposed chest. His abs travel into a well defined v-line before the sweatpants cover the rest of his glorious body. I don't know why he became a business owner when he could've so easily modeled. He lifts one of his large hands and drags it through his soaking deep oak brown hair, the stubble on his jawline and upper lip making him look even more masculine. Those deep fire red eyes look up from where his head is bent down and flames lick the edges of his eyes. The heated look he sends me makes my stomach flip and other body parts react as well. I shouldn't be feeling this. Not with him. Not with my boss. His hair is still wet from the shower he took, damp and falling over his forehead slightly. Ah, fuck. I just want to brush them out of the way. Some water beads along his toned body and I bite my lip harshly to take the focus away. My heart is pounding so fast in my chest.

When my eyes finally meet his again, he starts walking towards me and I clench my fingers around the countertop to stop my hands from shaking. Goosebumps pebble my skin as his breath fans across my face with his closeness. The air in my throat snags harshly and I almost choke. He's standing in front of me now, his knees nudging at my crossed ankles. Which somehow seem to open on their own accord. Along with my thighs, they part for his hips as he takes another step closer, holding my gaze with smoldering heat. He leans in closer to me, tilting his head to the right slightly. My heart freezes in my chest along with every working cell I have in my entire being.

Is he going to kiss me?

A breathy and inaudible gasp leaves me as his tongue drags across his bottom lip. And my eyes flutter as his nose brushes mine. But just when my head falls to the right slightly, Dawson pushes up and grabs something from the cupboard behind me. Confusion immediately takes over as my brows furrow together. When Dawson pulls back slightly, his lips brush my ear and a tremor works it's way through me. "What?" He breathes in my ear, his voice deep and husky so close to me, "I just needed a plate."

And then Dawson steps back from me. Air rushes to my lungs and I refrain from coughing with relief. Dawson is in fact holding a plate. That's all he was doing. Getting a plate. I was in the way. Why did that feel so intimate?